


Dissonance

by Grumpy_Old_Snake



Series: Snippets from a Self-indulgent Sickfic [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, HP as a plot point, Hospitals, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Just a snippet; incomplete by design, Magic theories, Major Illness, Medical Emergency, Mentioned Toriel & Sans, Minor Alphys/Undyne, Not a reader insert, POV Second Person, POV Undyne, Present Tense, Respiratory Distress, Sick Sans, Sickfic, Undyne Swearing, Undyne tries her best, Vomiting, Waiting Rooms, You are Undyne. Undyne is you. Etc., emetophobia warning, monster biology theories, not really but consider yourself warned anyway, papyrus tries his best, this is a self indulgent fic written for entertainment purposes only etc etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-26 15:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13238370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grumpy_Old_Snake/pseuds/Grumpy_Old_Snake
Summary: In which Sans is ill, Papyrus does his best, and Undyne does the driving.(Even in an emergency there's this strange, surreal veneer of normality; a dissonance between the rush of events one might expect, and the reality that travel takes time and you kind of need to find your wallet and shoes first.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer  
> There is a rather terrible decision made in this chapter that is not treated like a terrible decision. So, ah, for the record! Please see the notes at the end of the chapter for an explanation.

**Undyne POV**

You wake from disjointed-if-pleasant dreams to the sound of Papyrus calling your name. There's a tight edge to his voice that you've never really heard before, and it chases away all traces of the languid satisfaction of finally getting some sleep with the efficiency of a bucket of ice water to the face. Papyrus calls your name again, more urgently, and you're up off the couch and stumbling groggily in the direction of his voice before you've quite consciously registered what you're doing.

You reach the door to Sans's room and find Papyrus just maneuvering himself out of it and into the hallway, and your breath catches. That... isn't human blood, you know, unless the pair just murdered a human in there or something. (And you know about how likely that is with Papyrus involved.)

It sure as hell isn't any sort of body fluid that should be coming from a monster, either. But whatever it is, it's  _everywhere_ , leaving Papyrus's shirt drenched through with scarlet and clinging to his bones. Sans lies slumped across Papyrus's shoulder, and his bare chest leaves the shallow, labored motion of his ribs clearly evident past the faint green glow of the healing magic that Papyrus is pressing into his brother's back. Still completely baffled, your voice is embarrassingly faint when you finally unfreeze enough to manage to speak. "What the hell...?"

Papyrus meets your eyes, and the fear there—helpless and terrified and  _wrong—_ does absolutely nothing to relieve the slick feeling of dread coiling viciously in your chest. "I—I think we really do need to go to the hospital now," Papyrus says, his voice still strained. The possibility of action breaks through your frozen shock, a flood of adrenaline taking its place, and you jerk into motion.

"Shit—yeah, let me—" You get out of his way and then trail at his heels as he hurries down the hall, getting your first glimpse of Sans's face in the process. His eye sockets are closed tightly, edged with pain or discomfort. From this angle you can hear his breathing, which is rasping in a way that's anything but reassuring. The red stuff traces sluggish trails from his nasal cavity and mouth, dripping down to dot the back of Papyrus's shirt in faint echo to the stains you'd seen soaking its front.

"What the heck IS that stuff?" And what had  _happened_? Sans had seemed stable enough when you'd traded off with Papyrus and gone to sleep, and this— _nothing_ like this happened with Papyrus's illness. Their symptoms have been matching almost exactly up until now, as far as you know. It's the only reason Sans has been able to talk Papyrus out of dragging him to the hospital well before this.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Papyrus says, the strain in his voice edging into the beginnings of a wail before Sans's hand tightens its grip on his shoulder and he drags his tone back under some semblance of control. He's been getting better at that, and honestly you kind of regret it.  _Somebody_ certainly deserves to be yelling right now. "HE STARTED COUGHING IN HIS SLEEP, AND I SAT HIM UP TO TRY TO WAKE HIM UP AND HELP HIM CATCH HIS BREATH AGAIN, BUT. IT. CHANGED..?? AND THEN THIS STUFF WAS GOING EVERYWHERE! IT DOESN'T EVEN FEEL LIKE MAGIC, UNDYNE, I DON'T..."

"Right," you mutter, and as the two of you enter the living room you make a beeline to the couch and start digging through the covers. Your phone is in here somewhere... "Do you think he's good to drive there, or do we need to call an ambulance?"

"I DON'T KNOW," Papyrus admits. "I—THOUGH! OF COURSE I CAN AT LEAST..." His tone brightens ever so slightly as he trails off, and you hear Sans make a faint noise of protest as Papyrus shifts him.

Your questing fingers finally run into the hard edge of your phone wedged down between the cushions. You tug it free and look up to find that Papyrus has knelt on the floor, Sans settled in his lap and held half-upright in the crook of one arm as he uses the other to coax Sans's soul forward. Sans twitches, his mouth pulling into a grimace as he turns to bury his face against Papyrus's sleeve and mutters something that you can't catch.

Not much you can do there. Besides, even though you aren't the one doing the INSPECTion yourself it still feels invasive to keep watching. Turning back to your phone you glance at the time—way too damned early—pull up Dr. Renin's number, and then press your phone to your ear. You'll have to call them either way, and they should be able to get an ambulance headed your way if needed. You grit your teeth impatiently as you wait for them to pick up.

Dr. Renin has answered and you've nearly finished describing the situation when Papyrus finally stops peering so closely at Sans's soul and lets it fade back into invisibility. He sags forward with a shaky breath, gathering Sans tightly to his chest. That had taken a lot longer than you were used to, and you shift uncomfortably.

"Hold on, I think he's done checking Sans's HP—Papyrus? What've we got?" Papyrus rouses slightly and looks at you.

"THERE'S LESS BUFFER THAN THERE WAS, BUT I WATCHED—IT'S NOT CHANGING RIGHT NOW, EITHER. PERHAPS IT IS SIMPLY THAT HE HAS NOT BEEN NAPPING AS WELL AS BEFORE?"

The doctor hums, their sharp ears apparently picking up Papyrus's voice with little trouble. "How responsive is he?"

"Uh... I don't know, he's been moving around a bit but not talking much," you admit, walking over and crouching beside the skeletons. This close the scent of chlorine and copper catches in the back of your throat, foreign and strange. Sans has curled into Papyrus's shirt despite the mess there, pressing his face into the fabric, so you raise your voice. "Hey twerp! You with us?"

"...'m'wake," Sans rasps after a moment. He turns slightly, face no longer muffled against Papyrus's chest, and his eye sockets open a crack. "s'just... hhh. kinda—kinda hurts. and—" His voice crackles oddly, and he breaks off into a wet cough.

You and Papyrus both tense warily. But Sans swallows, tilting his head back to take several careful, shallow breaths, and nothing comes of the brief fit. His eyes slide back closed. "that," he manages. "hard to talk."

"HE'S BEEN CONSCIOUS SINCE I HELPED HIM UP," Papyrus supplies, and you nod.

"You catch all that?" you ask the doctor.

"Yes. They live near the park, correct?" they say after a moment. "Get going. The ambulances are... not well-equipped for monsters, just yet. If he's awake, still over his health capacity, and not actively deteriorating, there's not much they'll be able to do for a skeleton. And you may well get here quicker this way. Once you get over here we'll see what we can figure out, alright?"

"Alright."  _Figure out,_ you note. Not  _do_. You try not to wonder whether the doctor has as little an idea of what might be going on as you do; it was just a turn of phrase. You pass the plan of action along to Papyrus as you stand, then duck into the kitchen to grab a bowl in case Sans starts coughing up the whatever-it-is again.

Papyrus is sitting on the couch when you return, his brother slumped against his side with a blanket draped around his shoulders. Papyrus maintains a steady stream of preemptive (if currently useless) healing magic into Sans's chest as he tugs on his boots with his free hand. You study the scene for a moment and come to a decision.

"I'll drive," you tell Papyrus, going over to your pile of things and slipping on your own shoes.

"WHAT?" Papyrus looks at you in honest bafflement. "UNDYNE, I UNDERSTAND THAT THESE ARE TRYING TIMES—EVEN I CAN ADMIT TO SOME... DISCOMBOBULATION. BUT I MUST REMIND YOU THAT AS YOU YOURSELF HAVE POINTED OUT ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS, YOU DO NOT HAVE A CAR!"

"No, but I can  _drive,_ " you insist, nodding your head towards their key hook in explanation. "I had to get the regular license before I could get the motorcycle one, you goof."

"OH." Papyrus looks from you, to the keys, and finally to his brother, who reaches up to grab his arm—either with expert timing or in a legitimate search for comfort, you can't tell. Papyrus gives Sans a quick squeeze in response and straightens his shoulders. "OF... OF COURSE! THAT IS AN EXCELLENT POINT. WORRY NOT, BROTHER, I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU WHEN I DO NOT HAVE TO!"

Somehow you all make it out to the car without further incident, the brothers settled in back with the bowl held in Sans's shaky grasp. Sans sits in the middle where he can stay hunched against Papyrus's side, and Papyrus keeps a supportive arm wrapped around his shoulders. You force yourself to take a moment to adjust the mirrors and seat—as frustrating as the delay is, you kind of need the extra range of vision—and then you're on your way. 

It's a direct route without many street lights, and you gladly take the opportunity to speed. The streets are nearly deserted with the early hour, though the summer sun is already beginning to come up; it brushes the clouds to the east with faint predawn light. Under different circumstances this could almost have been a pleasant drive. You like your bike because it lets you get through traffic and looks rad as hell, but no traffic to begin with is almost as good.

Papyrus keeps up a constant stream of rambling encouragement and well-intentioned attempts at distraction as you drive. Sans seems to appreciate the effort, even managing a faint huff of a laugh once or twice. You tune them out and settle into a sort of purposeful, tense focus, which is about as close to calm as you are going to get under the circumstances.

The calm lasts for a large enough portion of the trip that you almost begin to  _actually_ relax, feeling preemptive satisfaction at reaching the hospital without incident. That changes when Sans starts coughing again without warning. The sound goes breathless within moments and Papyrus's reassuring babble breaks off in response, making the sound of Sans fighting for air all the louder in the sudden silence.

You know better, technically, but—to hell with it. You adjust the rear view mirror down to check on them. "You okay back there?"

Sans is hunched over, sweat beading on his skull and face buried into the blanket as he tries to muffle his coughing. Papyrus has turned in his seat to place a steadying hand against the front of his shoulder, the other splayed across his back and still glowing with protective healing magic. You have little doubt that Sans would have toppled over completely already without the support. Papyrus's reflection meets your gaze briefly, expression worried, but he returns his attention to his brother without replying verbally.

A glint of yellow in your peripheral vision forces you to look away for a moment, and you slow to a stop at one of the few traffic lights that dot the route. Sans stops coughing while you are distracted.

When you glance at the mirror again, Sans has abandoned the blanket in favor of wheezing faintly over the bowl. Fluid trickles from his nasal cavity, hitting the plastic with a steady patter. It looks kind of like he just has a nasty nose bleed and no real way to control it without a nose to pinch, which could almost have felt familiar; you've gotten junk like that from the humans at the gym a few times.

But Sans should be gasping for air after that fit, or at least struggling for it more even if he can't manage much past whatever has been making him wheeze so badly. As it is, his breaths are so shallow and carefully spaced as to be nearly nonexistent.

Papyrus seems to be thinking along much the same lines as you; he adjusts his grip, looking worried. "SANS? BROTHER, YOU NEED TO BREATHE," he urges. Sans shakes his head jerkily, grimacing.

" _SANS,_ " Papyrus says, with a bit more intent. The light changes and you're forced to turn your eye back to the road, but you continue listening. "I WILL CERTAINLY AID YOU IF YOU CANNOT RECOVER ON YOUR OWN IN A MINUTE, BUT I THINK BOTH OF US WOULD RATHER AVOID THAT!"

Silence. Your hands curl tighter on the steering wheel, claws digging into its surface, and you tell yourself firmly that Papyrus has things handled. You're getting better at things too, dang it. Which means  _paying attention to the road_ instead of turning around to forcibly shake some functionality into Papyrus's brother so that he stops scaring the hell out of everyone. Still—"If you're holding your breath to keep from coughing, twerp, I'm going to smack you. Ya gotta breathe sometime, so face it head on and get it over with!"

... _More_ silence. Argh. Papyrus speaks again just seconds before your patience snaps and you chew Sans out for being an idiot. "BROTHER, I KNOW IT HURTS. BUT YOU'LL BE ALRIGHT! YOU WERE THE FIRST TIME. JUST BREATHE."

Okay, so maybe reassurance is an option, too. Right. Letting Papyrus handle things: take two.

You nearly jump out of your skin the next moment when Sans lets out a sharp noise that could just as easily be a sob as a bitter laugh, because  _what in the everloving king's beard was that._ If Papyrus looking frightened and helpless had been upsetting on a fundamental level, that noise coming from  _Sans_ was still downright jarring. But Sans finally draws in a long, shuddering breath. It catches halfway through with the same crackle that had prevented him from speaking earlier, and then instead of coughing he's retching weakly.

Oh. Well. That explains the size of the stains on Papyrus's shirt better than a "nosebleed" would, you suppose. Uncomfortable and keyed up with new adrenaline, you return the rear view mirror to its proper position and drag your focus back to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer
> 
> If someone is experiencing acute respiratory distress for unknown reasons, please call an ambulance. Especially if you have no way of knowing whether it might get worse on the way to the hospital. _Especially_ if they have a medical condition that puts them at greater risk. 
> 
> The "you'll get to the hospital faster if you drive yourself" justification is untrue. Calling an ambulance means that medical support is being offered from the moment the EMTs reach the patient, and the ambulance will almost certainly _get to your location_ faster than you will get to the hospital. Additionally, EMTs will be able to coordinate with the staff at the hospital on the drive to ensure that if the patient needs immediate attention, the appropriate measures will be ready and waiting for them. 
> 
> I chose to ignore all of this for the sake of writing what I wanted to write. :P I wanted to see if I could capture some of the more surreal aspects of my own experiences accompanying a pained and nauseated sibling to the ER. I also wanted to write about this particular concept with monster biology / Sans' magic / this illness. I combined these two goals because I wanted to, not because it is realistic.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Moving on from that! There will be three more chapters in this fic, though they'll all be a bit shorter than this first one. They're already written, so even if I don't have time to post them in the next few days, they'll definitely go up soon-ish.


	2. Chapter 2

Sans seems to have finished vomiting by the time you reach the hospital, though he's still panting from the exertion as you pull up to the emergency entrance. At least he seems to be breathing more freely than before, occasional weak cough aside. You crane around in your seat to look at the pair as Papyrus opens the door and slides out.

"I'll go park while you two head in," you tell them, then address Papyrus. "Unless you need help?" Papyrus has been carrying Sans just fine so far, but you feel like you should check. Papyrus is tough and Sans is light, but Papyrus  _was_ recently ill himself, and he's been casting healing magic almost this entire time besides. Even if it might be less draining than normal without any physical or HP damage there to actually heal, it still has to be taking  _some_ energy. And the memory of just how hard Papyrus's illness had hit him is still fresh in your mind. But Papyrus shakes his head.

Before he can reply further Sans interrupts, forcing empty eye sockets open and straightening from his hunched position to look at you. "go on ahead," he says hoarsely, gingerly setting the bowl aside and reaching to unbuckle himself before Papyrus can get to it. "...i can walk 'f i need to."

You scoff, because you doubt that. You know for a fact that he still hadn't been eating enough even before this most recent disaster, and at this point he looks about two steps away from passing out. But you don't get a chance to express your disbelief further before Sans leans forward to brace a forearm against your chair. (He looks downright creepy from this close up; the absence of his eye lights and the rivulets of red running down his skeletal face combine to send his appearance straight past haggard and into macabre.)

"but, uh. could y'call—" Sans breaks off to clear his non-existent throat, his shoulders hitching with a suppressed cough. One hand goes to his chest, clutching at it as his eye sockets squeeze shut. "ghh,  _ow._ "

"SANS, WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO SAY CAN SURELY WAIT!" Papyrus fusses, reaching in to haul Sans out of the car. Sans's eyes jerk back open, and he somehow avoids Papyrus's initial grab without actually moving much.

"Gotta agree with your bro here, dude, this is seriously not the time," you say with some exasperation, as Papyrus makes a frustrated noise and Sans waves off his second attempt.

"no—m' _fine,_ just a sec, this's important," Sans protests. He sags back with apparent relief when Papyrus reluctantly backs off, then takes a moment to scrub at his face with a clean corner of the blanket and drag in a few ragged breaths. His eye lights have flickered weakly back to life by the time he's finished collecting himself, and they focus on you as he tries again. "call alphys for me once you're parked, would you? tell her what's up."

Er. You exchange a look with Papyrus, who has slid halfway back into the car to renew the constant stream of healing magic, but he looks just as confused as you feel. 

"'Course I'm gonna call her at some point, but—now?" You actually  _do_ want to call her now, it's just baffling that Sans is requesting it. You hadn't gotten the impression that the skeletons' relationship with Alphys is the kind that'd make her the first person they'd want to inform of a 5 am trip to the ER. Yourself, sure; if you hadn't been here already you would have expected to hear from Papyrus at least. And maybe you don't actually know who Sans  _would_ call, but—Alphys?

"yup." Sans shifts shakily over towards the door, leaning into Papyrus's waiting arms for support. Now that his brother is cooperating again, Papyrus wastes no time in lifting Sans out of the car and up onto his hip without apparent difficulty.

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH STALLING, SANS, WE ARE GOING NOW! THANK YOU UNDYNE!" he exclaims, then kicks the door shut and sets off. You settle back into your seat and shift the car into drive. 

Alphys, huh. She still seems like an odd first friend for Sans to want to call; Toriel would make more sense, if anyone.

But then, maybe Sans isn't after a friend...? You think about that as you pull away from the emergency entrance. Alphys's track record with medical stuff isn't exactly the best, but that doesn't change the fact that she  _did_ still technically bring a whole bunch of fallen monsters back from the brink. They're gooey abominations of science now, sure, but they're alive and with their families! More or less. Definitely more than they would have been, anyway.

And she did a freaking awesome job with Mettaton, even if it wasn't exactly what she _claimed_ she did for so long. Not that you can see how that would be relevant right now... though... Souls, maybe? Sans doesn't necessarily know Mettaton's true background—you're not sure who all she's actually shared that with. And skeletons don't exactly have lungs. Papyrus's sickness had kind of all boiled down to his soul and magic connections acting up, as far as you'd been able to understand, so. Maybe.

...Whatever! It's all a bunch of nerd stuff that won't be your problem, soon. And just because the request is baffling doesn't mean you aren't going to honor it. You turn your attention towards finding a parking spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned these last 3 chapters would be shorter, right? :P The last three combined will roughly equal the length of the first chapter alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter this time, haha. The last one should be longer, though, about 1,000 words.

Alphys answers sluggishly on your second attempt at calling her, grumbling about the time; you wouldn't be surprised if she went to bed only an hour ago. She goes worryingly quiet when you start describing what's been happening in greater detail, though.

"...Alphys?" you prod once you've finished and the silence drags on. "Do you know what's wrong? Why did Sans have me call you?"

"I-I don't—this doesn't make any... How, how much?"

"What?"

"How much has he thrown up?" Alphys clarifies impatiently. You can hear something clatter from her end of the phone, as if she's pulled open a drawer or door.

"Er—twice so far? Like, less than fifteen minutes apart." Your worry is growing. It sounds a lot like Alphys might have some sort of clue what's going on after all, which would be good, except she also sounds  _scared_.

"N-no, I mean—c-c-can you, um, can you estimate volume?"

Yyyeah, okay, you are just going to have to accept that you have no idea what's going on and roll with things. Fuck it, maybe Sans is a robot, or secretly a goo monster. Somehow that wouldn't even surprise you. You turn around to contemplate the bowl in the back seat, only to find that your view is terrible. You crane over the seats and pick it up, bringing it over to where you can get a better look.

"For the second time, sure, it's in a bowl." Either the stuff moves more like mercury than water or the plastic repels it, and there's a lot less of it than you expected. You tilt all of it into a corner and eyeball it. "It's like... less than half a can of soda? The first time looked like way more, but it was all over Papyrus's clothes and I was kinda freaked."

Alphys curses. "If that's... but that just doesn't make any  _sense!_ I don't know how Sans c-could—but if that  _is_ DT then—o-oh, God..." She trails off into a miserable moan, and you can hear her hyperventilating even over the phone. There's some more clattering. You haven't heard her this freaked out in a long while, and you find yourself more focused on her panic than on the content of her words.

"Alphys? Babe, what's going on over there, are you okay?"

"No, I—this isn't... that's too much, I—I didn't, I c- _can't_..." More shaky breathing. But when she speaks again her voice has gained some strength, and you get the feeling that she isn't really addressing your question anymore. "N-no.  _No_. It has to be something else, that _doesn't_ make sense. I'm, I'm going over there. You're at the main hospital, right?"

"Main for monsters anyway, yeah. Seriously though are you okay? Do you need directions or anything? I could come pick you up—"

"I can look it up," Alphys says grimly, and then hangs up on you. You stare at your phone for a stunned moment, hands tensed with frustration, pride, and concern in equal measure.

"...What the HELL is going on??"


	4. Chapter 4

The receptionist isn't inclined to let you through. Apparently patient confidentiality trumps captain-of-the-former-Royal-Guard authority, which is complete bullshit if anyone cared to ask you. Which they don't.

It's frustrating as hell. You want answers!

You do manage to ~~intimidate~~ convince her to at least send someone back to let them know that you've called Alphys and that she's on her way. Judging by the small hubbub the mention of the former royal scientist's name causes, the message will likely be passed along to a good chunk of the staff's monster demographic, too. Whoops.

That accomplished, you find a chair and sit down, trying to think if there's anything else you can do to help other than sit around and wait for news. You left in a hurry and Papyrus's shirt is a mess; maybe you can go back to their house and grab him a change of clothes? You don't really want to leave without telling him where you're going, though, and the staff has more important things to do than ferry every message that pops into your head.

You aren't sure if Papyrus has his phone or not, either, and even if he does you aren't sure he'll be checking it at all right now. You send him a text just in case, then settle in to wait.

It isn't easy. You should probably be aching to go back to sleep for another few  hours, but you are still wired with adrenaline and nerves. So you occupy yourself for a while by sending an update to Toriel.

You're checking your phone for replies for the third time in as any minutes, leg jogging impatiently as you bare your teeth at any human that stares at you for too long, when Papyrus comes through the back door. Someone must have given him a spare set of scrubs and pointed him at a sink or shower, because his own clothes are nowhere in sight and he's working to dry his metacarpals with a small hand towel. He spots your wave and hurries over, and you stand to meet him.

"What's going on? Did they kick you out?"

"NOT FOR LONG, THEY—I THINK THEY CALLED IT A MAGIC FLOW SCAN? I CAN'T GO IN THE ROOM WHILE THEY DO IT! AND I KNEW YOU WERE WAITING, SO..." Papyrus trails off, looking harried. Now that he's closer you can tell that he's fidgeting with his hands more than actually doing anything productive, working the towel into the same gaps over and over again.

"Okay," you say. Then again, steadying: "Okay! Did the nurse find you? I called Alphys and she's on her way. It seemed like she might have an idea what's going on, so maybe she'll be able to help." You glance down again. "How ya holding up, nerd?"

Papyrus follows your gaze to his hands and drops them quickly to his sides, squaring his shoulders. "THE GREAT PAPYRUS CAN HANDLE ANY SITUATION! AND I AM SURE THE DOCTORS WILL FIGURE THIS OUT," he avows firmly, and then sags slightly. "BUT... SANS IS ALREADY ACTING MOST CLAM-LIKE, AND I F—I  _SUSPECT_ THAT HE WILL NOT VOLUNTEER INFORMATION WHEN HE OUGHT TO. HE DOESN'T LIKE DOCTORS." Papyrus looks to the side, unconsciously going back to worrying at his hands.

That... sounds like a rather realistic fear, unfortunately. You're almost proud that Papyrus has stated it in so many words, actually; Sans isn't the only one who skirts around issues at times. Still—"I'm sure he knows this is important," you say, clapping a bracing hand to Papyrus's shoulder. "I mean, he didn't argue about coming to the hospital this time, right?"

The despairing look that earns you indicates that yes, actually, apparently Sans had. God damn it, Sans. "Didn't argue too hard," you amend lamely. You study your friend for a moment and then, for lack of any other bright ideas, spread your arms slightly in invitation. "Do you want—?"

"...PLEASE." Papyrus leans into your offered hug gratefully, though he keeps his own arms folded tight up by his chest. You squeeze once, cautiously. When he responds by ducking his head and huddling closer rather than pulling away, you renew the pressure and keep it there, positioning your arms to avoid getting stabbed by his spine. He's shivering faintly, and it makes your soul ache. You need to do something, you need to  _fix this._ But you can't.

"Is there anything you need?" you ask after a while of silence, when it becomes apparent that Papyrus isn't going to break it himself any time soon. "I already texted Toriel. No answer yet, but she's probably still asleep; we can try calling her if you want. And I can go back to your house and fetch things—clothes and junk maybe. And your phone if you don't have it."

It takes a few even after that, but eventually Papyrus shifts and lets out a huff of air. You loosen your grip in response. "...I DO HAVE MY PHONE," he says, "BUT MY OWN CLOTHES WOULD BE NICE. SOME FOR SANS, TOO? AND ONE OF HIS BOOKS, PERHAPS. WE MAY BE HERE A WHILE."

"Got it." You step back, discreetly shaking out your numbed arms. Papyrus straightens and glances around nervously, as if just noticing the other occupants of the room. You call his attention back to yourself before he can get too worked up about the audience with a hurried, "Anything else?"

"NO, THAT SHOULD... OH! YES, ACTUALLY." Papyrus glances over his shoulder at the door he'd come in through. "COULD YOU LET ONE OF THE NURSES INTO THE CAR BEFORE YOU GO? DOCTOR RENIN WANTS TO CONTAIN EVERYTHING. THEY DON'T KNOW IF IT'S... SAFE."

You'd been fiddling around with a bowl of potential biohazard, in other words—and Papyrus had been  _coated_ in the stuff. Wonderful. "Yeah, of course. Should I do anything about the sheets at your place?"

"AH... PERHAPS YOU COULD PUT THEM IN A GARBAGE BAG FOR NOW? OR JUST DON'T TOUCH THEM?" Papyrus suggests, though he looks downright pained at the thought of leaving a mess unattended to.

"I'll ask the nurse I guess. I'll be back soon, okay nerd? You got this, Sans'll be fine." You reach out to noogie him, and he ducks your attempt with a soft 'nyeh' of protest.

But you earn a bit of a smile, which is the important thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do technically have a bit more than this written, but this  
> chapter marks the last complete scene that I have available to post.
> 
> It took me about a year and a half to get around to writing all of the snippets that I have posted in this 'series,' so that tells you about how diligent I am about working on this. ^_^; I make absolutely no promises about future entries happening at all, never mind _when_ they might get posted. 
> 
> Posting these and getting a bit of a response—certainly more of one than I expected!—has been really nice and has gotten me kind of excited about this concept again, but I’m also starting classes again soon and I have other priorities. This thing is an idle hobby for me at best. That said, feel free to throw suggestions/requests my way. I continue to make zero promises, but I'm certainly curious about what y'all might be interested in seeing next.
> 
> That said, I hope you've enjoyed reading what I do have written! Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to leave a kudos, bookmark, or comment, I really appreciate it. ^_^


End file.
